My mother was a very private person. To this day I still don’t know what her religion beliefs were, she refused to talk about it. She was a house-wife – originally she worked a secretary, but when my sister was born there was no such thing as maternity leave, so she chose to quit work and raise us full time, a commitment which I am grateful for.
As a child going through school, my mother worked in the school canteen, which was very convenient because I could ask her for money all the time. I remember her telling me one day that whenever I was sick, she felt guilty because she couldn’t tell if I was faking it or not. And yes I admit, I did fake sickness occasionally, so I could get a day off work. But that meant that when I was actually sick, she’d send me to school, then I’d come home and lunch and she’d feel guilty. Now I wish I’d never faked anything.
In my twenties I spent a lot of time unemployed, which meant I spent a lot of time at home with Mum. When she got sick, I was the one to take her to the doctors. As it turned out, her kidney’s had failed. She had to go on dialysis while on the waiting list for a new kidney. Now I admit, at the time I didn’t think it was important to know the technican details – but now I wish I had paid more attention.
She was given two choices. One, a large dialysis machine which she would have to be connected to for 2-3 hours per day. or Two, a simplier procedure that only takes 5-10 minutes at a time, but four times a day. She chose this second option. They installed a tube in her stomach, which went into a bag inside her peretanele cavity (that’s probably wrong, I can’t remember how to spell it… it was fifteen years ago!). They gave her bags of liquid, which if i remember correctly where just glucose and water, and four times a day she would have to drain out what was in her, and take in a new bag of stuff. For years our house was full of ‘Baxters’ boxes, everywhere.
It was a hard time, because it made my mother much weaker than she was. Before this she was very active, and used to play tennis and bowling regularly, but after she went in dialysis she had to stop them. We couldn’t spontaneously decide to go out anywhere, because Mum would have to be back within three hours to do her Dialysis. She also had to stop swiming (which she enjoyed), because she could never get the tube in her stomach wet.
All of this was while she was on the waiting list for a new kidney. After three years we had pretty much given up hope, and just accepted that this is what our life will always be like. Then one Tuesday, at 8am, they rang. They had found a new kidney. That day was the happiest day of my life. It was the first and only time that I can honest say I was crying tears of joy. We all were.
Mum went into hospital immediately, they did the kidney transplant, and all seemed to go well. She had to take heaps of medication to lower her immune system, so it wouldn’t reject the kidney – and it didn’t. It was a good year. My Mum seemed happier and healthier than she had in a long time. Mum and Dad went on a second honeymoon, and even though she didn’t swim (she was feeling sick), they were happy.
Then in early December, Mum began to have stomach pains. She went in hospital, and they did lots of tests, weren’t really sure what was wrong. They let her come out for Christmas, but she just sat in a corner, was very weak, and didn’t eat anything. Eventually they found that she had contracted some type of infection (again, I didn’t pay attention to details), but because she was taking medication to lower her immune system, her body was unable to fight it off. She was in and out of intensive care for two months. I remember every night I would pray that she would get better and come out of hospital, but she never did.
Then one day I thought, maybe I’m praying for the wrong thing. I decided to make my prayers more simple. Mum had a tube down her throat to help her breath, which meant she could never talk when we visited. One night I prayed that they would just take the tube out of her throat so I could talk to her, and the very next day they did exactly that. They moved her out of intensive care and into a regular ward, and had taken the tube out of her throat. She seemed much more lively than she usually was. The first words out of her mouth were “Do you have a job yet?” I felt bad that I didn’t.
She had been on hospital two months, and my 21st birthday was coming up. We all agreed that we would wait until she came out of hospital, whenever that was, and then have a party. The trouble was, she never came out of hospital. On my birthday she went into a coma, and she died two days later.
She was a great mother, but she died before I could properly get to know her.
